


Poisonous

by Ithika



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Gen, Short One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:14:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22559233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ithika/pseuds/Ithika
Summary: Writing prompt one-shot: Geralt responds to a word - or is it just a fading potion?
Kudos: 11





	Poisonous

_Freak._ The word struck his ears only softly- indeed if it weren’t for the lingering effects of his Cat potion he would not have heard the hateful hiss at all. The Witcher sets his jaw and rolls a shoulder, testing the tightness he feels following the fight. Now that the artificial vigour of the potions he’d consumed to slay the creature were fading, aches were awakening in the usual places; bruises so familiar that it would almost be stranger not to have them. **  
**

He stops, weighing the bag of crowns in a gloved hand a moment, feeling the eyes of the mayor on his back. It wasn’t the first time that the person who had hired him could barely stand to look at him; that the presence of the Witcher was very clearly only slightly preferable to that of the striga that had been terrorising (and devouring) the local peasantry.

Geralt lingered just long enough that the man might find himself wondering if the Witcher had heard him, if, perhaps, the famed monster hunter might turn his iron sword on them. Certainly, it is very quiet behind him, at the mayor’s market tent.

His boots crunch in gravel as he makes his way to the inn. The tight feeling that has his teeth and fists clenched is just the potion wearing off, he tells himself; best to get to a bed before it leaves him completely. He can not feel outrage, after all, not really, he reminds himself. It was the poison of the deadly Witcher’s brew that stirred his blood now, not anger at the lack of a simple thank you.

The inn is as quiet as these places ever are as he enters, and he’s glad for it, as by now exhaustion and the decoctions were making his head pound. The potions were responsible, not the word he couldn’t help but hear.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an unedited drabble written as a short-lived attempt at a writing Inktober in 2018. My first go at Geralt, after finishing The Last Wish (but drawing on Witcher 3 details like potion names), & if you're interested I was absolutely imagining Zach McGowan playing Geralt in the then only-just-announced Netflix series, which nobody who has looked at my profile here is likely to be a bit surprised by
> 
> Comments are always welcome and appreciated!


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